The Sharpest Blade

Page 73

Nick’s jaw clenches. “You planning on bringing every high noble here?”
“Most of the high nobles are dead.” Lena’s voice carries across the room.
I look over my shoulder, see her standing just outside the hallway with one hand braced against the wall. She shouldn’t be out of bed—I have the feeling her knees could buckle any second—but she manages to make herself look tall and regal standing there, not pain-ridden and broken.
I swear the life-bond growls. I glance at Kyol, but his expression is as neutral as always.
“Sit.” His order isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but I catch a glimpse of relief on Lena’s face. She makes it to the sofa chair—the nearest seat in the living room—without showing any other sign of weakness.
Kyol focuses on the high noble. “Sit.”
Hison’s nostrils flare, and the way he eyes the couch makes me want to laugh. Furniture in the Realm is handmade while ours is made mostly with machines, but it’s completely harmless. Even the TV remote sitting on the side table is a miniscule amount of tech.
When Hison still doesn’t budge, I roll my eyes, grab the remote, then elaborately motion for him to sit.
His expression hardens as he takes two stiff steps toward the couch, then, not taking his eyes off mine, he gingerly sits on its edge.
“Does he always act like he has a stick up his ass?” Kynlee asks.
“Kynlee,” Nick snaps at the same time I answer, “Yes.”
Hison doesn’t understand English, but his scowl deepens.
Actually, Hison is stiffer than usual. That might have something to do with the fact that I tranqed three of his fae freeing Aren from his offices.
“He should lighten up,” Kynlee says.
Hison’s lip twitches when he looks at Kynlee. This is probably the closest he’s been to a tor’um in decades, and he’s not doing a thing to hide his distaste.
With all the aplomb of an American teenager, Kynlee folds her arms across her chest, cocks her hip, and meets his glare.
“Kynlee. Room. Now.”
“But—”
“Now,” Nick says.
She lets out a sigh as she turns and leaves the room.
I sit on the arm of the second sofa chair.
Lena levels her gaze on Hison. “You better have a good reason for bringing him here, Taltrayn.”
“I can set up a meeting between you and Caelar,” Hison says.
Lena studies the high noble, and I know what she’s thinking. We’re all but certain Caelar is working with Cardak. Is Hison working with him now, too? He looked terrified when he burst into his office, and he was desperate enough to make a deal to let Aren go free if we helped him escape. But maybe he didn’t escape. The elari were searching the foothills of the Corrist Mountains for Lena and me. They could have found Lord Hison then.
“Why would I want to meet with Caelar?” Lena asks.
“You need him and his swordsmen to retake the palace.”
“If I recall correctly, Lord Hison, you have never wanted me in the palace.”
“I want the false-blood there even less!” he says between his teeth.
“False-blood?” Lena questions coolly. “He told me he’s Tar Sidhe, not one of their Descendants. I believe that makes him a completely different species of fae.”
“That’s a ridiculous claim.”
“Lord Ralsech believes it,” Lena says, referring to the high noble of Derrdyn, the province that declared support for the false-blood. “The elari do as well.”
“Ralsech is a fool,” Hison says. “If you believe the false-blood is Tar Sidhe, you are as well, and I’m wasting my time.” He stands, takes one step toward the back door.
“Sit!” Lena snaps.
He takes another step, but then Kyol is there, cutting off his retreat.
“Sit,” Lena orders again.
Hison straightens. He looks like he’s about to tell Kyol to get out of his way.
“You managed to escape the false-blood when many others did not,” Lena says. “And given our history, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical about your newfound cooperation.”
It’s not an apology, but it’s enough of a peace offering for Hison to stiffly return to his seat.
“The false-blood,” Lena says when he’s settled. “Do you have evidence he is not who he claims to be?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”
Lena’s eyes narrow slightly. “We believe his name is Cardak. He’s the brother of Thrain.”
“Thrain,” Hison says. “He’s dead. So are all of his supporters.”
“What are they saying?” Nick asks quietly. I didn’t notice him approach.
“She’s telling him we think the false-blood is related to Thrain.”
Nick stiffens.
“You’ve heard of him?”
He nods. “He was giving King Atroth problems about the time that I left with Kynlee.”
“He’s the fae who found me when I was sixteen.” I don’t say more than that—Nick’s expression indicates I don’t need to. I turn back toward Lena and Hison and concentrate on their conversation again.
“The word of a human won’t change anyone’s mind,” Hison is saying, his silver eyes darting to me briefly before returning to Lena. “We must return to Corrist and kill him. That’s the only way we’ll convince his followers they’ve been lied to.”
“And I’m sure you would love to be there, fighting at our sides,” Lena says.
I snort out a laugh.
Hison doesn’t bother to look at me.
“You need Caelar’s help,” he says.
“Caelar refuses to speak to me.”
He gives her a small smile. “With the kingkiller dead, I believe I can convince him to meet with you.”
My muscles tense, ready to launch myself at him and wrap my hands around his throat, but Kyol drops his mental shield. Our link opens, and he sends steady, calming emotions my way. I glare at him, trying to shove those emotions back in his face. But I get the message: don’t strangle a potential ally, even if that ally is a bastard.
“You’ve been speaking to Caelar for a while, haven’t you?” Lena asks. Her voice sounds tighter now.
Hison gives her a single-shouldered shrug.
“I’ll meet with Caelar,” Lena says. “But it must be in this world, somewhere public.”
She looks at me. The meeting is going to have to be close by. She’s in no condition to fissure.
“Is there somewhere nearby they can meet?” I ask Nick.
“There’s a coffee shop over there.” He nods toward the back of his house. Beyond his fenced-in backyard is the shopping center I saw the first time I drove here. “It’s not usually crowded, but there’s enough traffic passing through to make everyone stay in line.”
Lena looks at Kyol. “Do you have an anchor-stone you can imprint?”
He nods. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
When he leaves, Lena says, “I assume I’ll have your support once the false-blood is killed?”
“You are the strongest-blooded Descendant,” Hison says. “And the kingkiller is dead. I won’t oppose you anymore.”